


Team Spirit

by OxfordPictionary



Series: Hampshire-verse Rewrite [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Fat Shaming, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26875828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OxfordPictionary/pseuds/OxfordPictionary
Summary: Wyoming works for a more powerful employer than Project Freelancer, always has. And now, that employer wants Corporal Josi Bentley, her platoon's best sniper, to work for him too. After a showdown in a stairwell, trip to the hospital and being sent to a Red base in a box canyon, Josi mounts an ambitious escape and runs into the Reds and Blues on their way back from fighting the Meta. How will Washington react when he finds out his old comrade isn't dead like he thought and much more dangerous too.Set before the events of New Hampshire (rewrite) but you can read in either order.A rewrite of something I originally posted on fanfiction.net, because again, what I wrote when I was a teenager is comical at best.
Relationships: Dexter Grif/Original Female Character(s), Franklin Delano Donut/Frank "Doc" DuFresne
Series: Hampshire-verse Rewrite [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960687
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**_Several Years Ago..._ **

Wyoming POV

I stood to attention with the rest of the project, or rather, what was left. It hadn't been an easy job, and in the end, I'd felt a little bad about it. The numbers of what was once an expansive, strong squad, dwindled. There was an empty metal casket sitting in the cargo bay ready to be launched into space when the airlock was released. The New Alexandria Republic flag was being folded in front of the coffin as the rest of the bay was cleared of anything not gav-locked down. The national anthem played and suited up marines entered, shotguns loaded and ready. The ceremonial shots were fired and the casket left it's stand. The airlock opened and the shots were done. Another agent down, soon, the project would fall. Soon it would be over.

I looked over to Agent Washington and North Dakota, the only two stood close to the observation window, while I stood beside his sister who was blabbing about a royal pain in the arse finally gone. I somehow wouldn't feel bad when it was her turn. Sabotaging the drop ship hadn't been difficult, but, it would have been easier if it was a different agent inside. The order came from the Director himself however, when bringing this up with my contact, he'd not challenged the order. This struck me as odd, but I didn't ask questions. That's why I got this job.

Main POV

My back ached as I lounged on the rec-room's lumpy sofa. Still, it was better than being at work. It was rare I found someone shooting at me while I was in here watching TV. I sighed, with GrifBall not scheduled till later, there was nothing watchable on TV. It was Tuesday and just like every Tuesday the rest of the squad was in training while I got the day off because I had the weekend shift. It was supposed to be my Sunday today. Supposed to be.

"Bentley," I heard my CO say from behind me. I turned my stiff neck to see him leaning against the door jamb, arms folded over his chest.

"Yeah?" I sighed. He looked pissed.

"Could you not find anything else to do than waste away in front of the tv, gorging yourself on snacks?" he asked. "You're already barely passing your fitness tests, shouldn't you be exercising or something?"

I pushed myself up, rolling my shoulders. Putting the TV remote down on the coffee table beside my bag of chips I climbed to my feet and walked toward him. He raised a brow.

"I do my training, I pass my tests every quarter and I have the most confirmed kills not just of my platoon, but the whole battalion," I said. "It doesn't matter how much I pass by, I _pass._ What I do on my day off, is my business."

"Are you talking back to a superior officer?" he asked and I frowned. "Fifty laps around the gym."

I grumbled as I stood on the scales in the women's locker room. 175. That wasn't _great._ Though, muscle did weigh more than fat, maybe I was just built? I looked down at the soft skin of my belly, protruding slightly over the waistband of my sports leggings. I _passed_ all my tests. What more did they want for me? My job didn't involve all the running around that everyone else's did. I was a sniper. My job was laying around in the dirt for a couple hours while I waited for people to come to me and then shoot them before they even knew I was there. I sat on rooftops and took out targets. There was no need for me to be the next advertisement for Military Fitness, the magazine for people who like men, women and non-binary people in uniform.

And _fifty laps?_ That seemed a cruel and unusual punishment. And I was having to run laps on a busy day, with my whole squad around to see me. Maybe the CO was trying to use humiliation to get me to lose weight. But, was there something so wrong with me? The way I looked? Was this number on the scale really so wrong? I sighed. I guessed I'd better get out there. After all, it was better to get it over with instead of getting a write up for being sassy again.

I checked my laces one more time before stepping onto the running track. I put my feet on the block and pushed off. Lap number one. This wouldn't be so hard, a bit of wheezing and I could go back to my chips. At least this would pass the time between daytime TV and GrifBall. I jogged around the gym, noticing at first, no one paid me any mind. Then I spotted Michael and Gavin put down their weights to watch me start to sweat, smirks on their faces. I frowned, those dicks always sucked. I bet they were the kinds of people who picked on the weird kid in school. Pushing people in the playground and whatnot.

A wave of sandy brown clouded my vision. I brought my hands to my head, scraping the curls up out of the way and tugging the tie off my wrist. I felt the pony swishing behind me and hitting me in the back as I jogged. If I was taller this weight would be fine. I don't see what the problem is, I'm average height, I pass my tests. This was unnecessary.

* * *

I sat with my arms folded over my chest. I didn't know why I had to sit through the mission briefing for the rest of the team, I had a separate mission, none of this was relevant. And I spent the entire meeting being given the side eye by the rest of the team. This was unfair. I knew my target, I'd be able to see him when he arrived and I knew my vantage point. All I had to do was make the right calculation for the wind and distance, keep an eye on the movement speed of the target and I was home free.

"You're dismissed, Bentley, you stay. I have something else to discuss with you," my CO said and I sighed. Why? I pushed myself up out of my chair and went to stand to attention in front of him. 

"At ease," he said and I relaxed slightly. "After you take out your intended target, I need you to move here and assist the team. There's going to be too many for a team of this size but it's all the UNSC can provide. Morales is going to be running distraction when you get there, draw some out and you take care of the rest."

"Sir I really don't think.." I started, how did I say Morales wasn't going to work because he was an asshole at the best of times and he really seemed to have a thing with me?

"Bentley I'm not going to ask you again."

"I wasn't aware I was being asked," I muttered and he looked up from his papers. "Yes sir," I replied more loudly.

"Dismissed," he told me and I headed back to my bunk room. I'd need sleep if I was going to get to my vantage point by the time my squad got to their starting location. And I'd need my rest to encourage patience. I was going to need a lot of it.

I walked past my standard, regulation white under armour suit and standard, regulation white armour plates and frowned at them. Despite being _standard_ and _regulation_ it did almost nothing to protect the soldiers wearing it. That alone was reason enough to leave, but when you're this good at your job, why quit? I tied my hair up for the night and then climbed into bed. Tomorrow would be better.

* * *

I exhaled softly and pulled the trigger. Another day, another target. I pressed the radio on my helmet, trying to contact my CO who was up in the drop ship. I received the order to move from my location, having confirmed my latest kill. I ran across the cliffside as fast as I could, regretting momentarily, as my lungs burned, being a chain smoker. Perhaps this was why my CO was always on me to exercise. The trip from the cliffside to the shipping yard was killing me. I was panting when I climbed the side of a shipping container for my next position but I made it and set myself up.

" **Morales,** " I radioed. " **I'm in position, I believe you know what to do.** "

" **A damn site more than you do, don't worry about it, I told the CO we don't need you, the squad can handle it just fine,** " he told me. I sighed and looked through my scope. There was a guy sneaking up behind him, if I didn't take the shot he'd be dead. It was a tough call, he would stop being my problem but at the same time the CO would probably be mad at me for letting him die. I exhaled and pulled the trigger. Headshot.

Morales turned to the shipping container and saluted, a cheap thank you from someone who was clearly not grateful. I swore. He'd just given away my position. A bullet whizzed past my face, barely missing me, enemy snipers wasting no time in finding and firing at me. I rolled away and hurried back down the container, running to find myself a new vantage point.

" **What the hell, Morales? You just gave away my position!** " I screamed through the radio. I ran up to a nearby building and up the stairs, trying to get myself high enough and to a window where I could see my team.

" **Get good then,** " he chuckled. " **If you were down here with the rest of the team, it would be worse, so don't be such a pussy.** "

" **Just shut the fuck up and cause a distraction like the CO asked so I can do my goddamn job,** " I yelled back and lined up a new target in my sight. I exhaled and pulled the trigger. 503. Despite Morales's protests, I was still useful. I was useful. I had a purpose, I belonged here. 

" **Don't you fucking tell me what to do, bitch. You don't even belong out here fatty,** " he seethed.

" **Cheap shot, you know I'm useful,** " I said as I took out another target close to taking him out.

" **Hey, you want to be useful?** " he asked. " **How about when we get back to base you make me a snack. You know, if it's not too much of a temptation to eat it yourself, bitch.** "

" **Never been dumb enough to eat poison before, asshole,** " I said, taking down another soldier. Why must they always get themselves into firefights? " **Now how about that distraction?** "

" **Fuck off!** " he said and I sighed. I'd make the distraction myself. I tilted my rifle until a thick, uniformed thigh came into view and pulled the trigger. " **You bitch! Did you see that? She fucking shot me.** "

" **Oh, was that you?** " I said, pretending to sound apologetic. " **I'm so sorry, I don't know how this thing works.** "

I turned off my radio, using my swearing, wailing and flailing teammate as a pretty decent distraction if I do say so myself. The enemy flocked to his position and I was able to take out streams of them in a row. I sighed in relief finally as I'd taken out most of the soldiers for them. I pushed myself up off of the window ledge of the half demolished building I'd been settled in. It wouldn't be long before the enemy's snipers figured out where the shots were coming from if I didn't move. Couldn’t have another close call like before. I hurried to the stairwell and almost tripped over myself as I found another white uniformed soldier waiting on the landing halfway down.

"That was a pretty ruthless move, shooting your own team mate for the tactical advantage, wasn't it, you cheeky little minx?" the soldier said in a British accent. He sounded amused. I paused, he wasn't one of ours, despite being all dressed in white. We didn't have anyone British on our team. And his uniform was too nice, he was clearly wearing the latest armour. I heard a growl from behind and spotted a giant soldier in an EVA helmet in my peripherals. I was a little shaken, this wasn't good.

"Freelancers?" I asked.

"Correct," the British one replied.

"Well, then I imagine you have a job to do, and I've gotta get back to mine, so see ya," I replied quickly, trying to walk past him. I knew it wouldn't work. Can't blame a girl for trying, can you? His hand was on my shoulder as he held me in place. We were now stood shoulder to shoulder facing opposite ways.

"We do have a job to do, you're quite correct my dear, but it involves you," he told me. "Be a good sport and don't try to run."

"What could _you_ possibly need my help with?" I asked. Project Freelancer had all the best tech and soldiers, I very much doubted they didn't have a sniper better than me. I frowned, ‘don't try to run’.

"Please let me go," I said.

"Sorry my dear, I'm afraid we can't," he told me.

He didn't explain further, instead the next thing I saw through my HUD was the butt of his weapon hitting me in the face. I let out a groan, going to swing my fist out, only to have it caught by him, he chuckled. He shook his head at me before he punched me in the gut. I really wanted to know why these two freelancers were here, they hadn't just randomly decided to beat me up in the stairwell, had they? That really wasn't their style. I wasn't going down without a fight, though.

I swung my knee up between us, kicking him in the nuts. I swung it up again, hitting him in the gut and he let go of my fist. I grabbed the back of his helmet and slammed it into my knee. I shoved him forward and made a move to run. I was grabbed from behind by the big guy and was thrown into the wall. The British guy recovered from me shoving him down the stairs and pulled out a handgun, firing off two shots straight at me. I coughed, feeling the blood spurting from my mouth before it hit the inside of my visor. Damn it. I ripped my own pistol from my side and pulled the trigger, hitting him in the foot. He hopped up and down as the blood from his wound spurted all over the outside my visor. I was almost blinded by the thick sea of red coating it either side. The big guy behind me grabbed my arm, snapping it back behind me at a bad angle. I heard something crack and I could feel it break. I was close to vomiting at this point. How was I getting beaten so badly? I was going to pass out.

Fuck. I was in so much pain. I dropped to my knees, gripping my helmet with shaking hands and twisting it to the side, hearing the hiss of the releasing air system and throwing it to the side. I felt my stomach lurch and hurled all over the dusty concrete. I was barely conscious, dark spots covered my vision as I was pistol whipped.

"We could have been a great team, you and I," I heard the British one say as I lay on the ground, struggling to stay awake. Struggling to get back up. "You really should have accepted that invitation to join the Project my dear."

I closed my eyes. I couldn't fight unconsciousness anymore. I closed my heavy lids. Somehow, I don't think any of the extra training my CO was throwing my way could have prepared me for this. Last thing I'm sure I remembered was being lifted into the air and carried in someone's arms. I hoped for my sake it wasn't either one of them.

* * *

I blinked. It felt like my head was full of sand. My whole body vibrated. What the hell was going on? Why did I feel like I was floating, and why was I so heavy at the same time? The ceiling above me was spinning slowly. I rolled my head to the side, vision slowly focusing to see my CO standing at the side of the bed I was apparently laying on. I furrowed my brow. Why was he in my bunk room? No, he wasn't. Where was I? This was a hospital bed. What the hell? Then it all came rushing back to me. Those Freelancer Bastards.

"Good timing," he told me. "I just spoke to my CO and he wants you off the team while you recover. The team's moving on to a new base and we can't wait around for you. We've been assigned a new sniper and you can join us once you've fully recovered. You've been temporarily reassigned while you do, once you're released from the medi-ward."

"Thanks for the info dump," I grumbled. That was too much to absorb first thing. "What's going on?"

"You were attacked in the stairwell of the building you were holed up in," he explained. "Don't you remember?"

I nodded. I knew that much. "Sounds familiar," I replied.

"Agents Wyoming and Maine from Project Freelancer found you in the stairwell, looks like the enemy found you on your way to repositioning and sought to take you out. They would have been successful if they hadn't found you," he told me. I frowned.

"That's not what happened," I said. Those bastards beat the shit out of me and now they were just going to cover it up? Maybe they _had_ just decided to beat me up in the stairwell. 

"It doesn't matter how you ended up in the stairwell, Bentley, the fact is, you're injured significantly now. You've been poked full of holes and you've broken your arm," he explained. "I need you to take this job and get recovering. It's not so bad," he told me. I nodded, at least this meant I wouldn't have to work with Morales for a while, or Gavin and Michael.

"Okay," I croaked and he smiled.

"That's a girl," he told me and walked out of the room, jerk. I rolled my head back to the ceiling. What the hell had happened to me?

"Good morning love, it's good to see you back in the world of the living," I heard and I panicked, I could hear my heart-rate monitor going off the charts. I breathed, trying to slow it down. "Gave us quite the scare, you did."

"Fuck off and take your ludicrous accent with you," I spat. "You and I both know you didn't just happen upon me in the stairwell, already injured. Now what do you want?"

"Temper, temper," he tutted, waggling a finger at me before he sat down at the chair beside my bedside. "is that really any way to talk to one of your saviours?"

"Some saviour, you were the one who put me here in the first place," I grumbled.

"Would it hurt your feelings to know you weren't going to make it back to base if we hadn't intervened?" he asked me. I groaned.

"Stop playing the saviour, I'm not going to tell anyone you beat me up in the stairwell," I said. "That shit's embarrassing for the both of us."

"I'm glad you'll keep that our little secret, but that's not what I meant," he told me. "My superior has plans for you my dear, and we intercepted some plans made over the radio, your little friend Morales had planned for you once this mission was over. Had we not done what we did, no matter how much you might dislike me for doing it, you would have been in a lot worse shape."

"Oh?" I raised a brow.

"Trust me my dear, I had a very close friend once come off a lot worse and it wasn't an easy recovery process," he told me.

"Oh, I'm so grateful you care," I rolled my eyes.

"It was her position you would have been taking over," he said less cheerily. "She was a very capable agent. You were my first mission after her funeral. While it wasn't what she went through that killed her, that was a faulty drop-ship, know that it very well could have been if she didn't have the support of her team to bring her back to us. You did not have that. And my employer needs you, so we had to intervene."

"What?" I asked. "Why does your employer want me?"

"It doesn't matter right now Corporal," he said and I tried to sit up, wincing.

"It's Private First Class," I coughed.

"Not anymore it's not, my dear," he told me. "A few strings pulled and you have yourself a promotion and a very nice place to recover. My employer thought that would be helpful to you."

"Why does your employer care? What does he want from me?" I demanded.

"All in good time," he dismissed me again. "Just you recover and keep being such a sharp shooter. It will all become clear in the future."

"Oh great, well now that's cleared up I feel much better," I replied sarcastically and he chuckled.

"Until next time, Little Minx," he replied, getting up from my bedside and heading out of the hospital room. Little Minx, I hoped that didn’t become my new nickname.

* * *

I sighed. I’d always wanted a new team, and to wave Gavin and Michael off someday, to see the back of Morales. I had wanted this, just, not like this. I didn’t want to be a _sim trooper_ no matter how the promotion affected my pay. I’d been a real soldier, fighting real wars, doing things that actually mattered. Now all I would do is hang out in some box canyon somewhere, ordering about red painted morons, pretending fighting the blue guys on the other side actually meant something. But I suppose when you boil it all down, that’s all wars. Two sides pretending they were fighting for something with meaning while being ordered about by someone who’s heart wasn’t in it for a made up reason. 

“Uhh Boss, package from command just came for you,” some Private squeaked awkwardly. I honestly couldn’t be bothered remembering any of their names, despite them technically being in my charge. 

I sighed more agitatedly than before, pushing myself up out of the bed I’d been lounging on. While technically recovered enough to be put on active duty in this hellhole, I was still poked full of holes and my arm was still broken. 

I followed after the Private in my pyjamas and hopped up on the mess counter, where he handed me a coffee and the package. Opening it with a nearby box cutter I picked up the handwritten note inside and read that first. 

_‘Little Minx,_

_I hope you’re behaving yourself, not ruthlessly sacrificing your own teammates for the tactical advantage, or else you’ll find your numbers will eventually dwindle. I expect your recovery is coming along nicely, and that you’re keeping up practice with your aim, can’t have your skills lapsing now you’ve taken up a much easier position. I’m writing to tell you I’ve secured an enhancement and AI fragment from the Project Freelancer you so ignorantly rejected, use them wisely._ _  
__Heed this warning, I will be keeping tabs on you, Little Minx, so don’t try anything stupid. There have been others my employer has taken an interest in, and once they’ve become a problem they were taken care of just so. So be smart,_

_Wyoming’_

I frowned. He mentioned he’d worked with people who’d been attacked in some way, he and his oversized buddy had taken no issue in assaulting me in a stairwell, what else had he done on behalf of his mysterious employer? Needless to say, I didn’t want to be around to find out. Fuck playing it safe, I had to heal and get my fatass outta here. Keeping up practice however, might not be such a bad idea. 

“Private,” I called the awkward figure to attention. 

“Yes, Ma’am?” 

“You specialised in mechanics or robotics of some kind, didn’t you?” I ask. 

“Yes Ma’am,” he confirmed. 

“I’ve got a job for you.”

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**_Several Years Ago…_ **

Main POV

I exhaled softly and pulled the trigger. Another day, another target. My kill count wouldn’t go up with this, or any other shots I took today. I stared down the scope seeing the small wooden duck slowly roll into my sight. I pulled the trigger again and hit the blood red target in it’s centre. I rolled my newly free wrist around a few times, the movement a forreign feeling from the cast it had been trapped in a mere week ago. Still, I’d been keeping myself busy since I’d gotten my letter from Wyoming, including having a private build and operate this fairground attraction for me over the last month. 

I sighed, knocking over another wooden duck. This was boring. I activated the radio on my helmet reaching the Private down the range instantly. 

“Can this go any faster?” I asked. 

“Yes, Boss,” he replied with a sigh, walking behind the frame to mess around a bit. 

And it did go faster, and faster until it mimicked human running speed, and I was good at that too. Because it was only 2 dimensional wooden ducks looping around in a circle, it was still boring. Days passed, I’d never felt bored with the monotony before. I relished in being lazy and wanting to lounge around on my days off before. But that’s when I had days off, and the rest of my time was spent in active combat, no matter how far I was from the front lines. Now my whole life was a day off, and it wasn’t what I imagined. 

I climbed down from my perch with a small groan, while my arm had healed, my time spent in a sim base only meant my recovery from bullet wounds was less than subpar. I slowly shuffled to the door of the range and headed back to my room. I groaned again as I tried to detach my armour plates and peel off my protective suit. I had to practice up, I’d never missed a shot in my life, but I needed to make sure the day I did never came. 

I’m pretty sure my privates never hated me more the day I ordered them to run around outside our base holding targets above their heads but it would only mean they’d care a lot less when I inevitably went missing from this place. Either when I escaped, or the more likely option, that the devils in white came to collect my soul.

“You guys are doing great,” I told them through the radio, not that my encouragement meant much. But they seemed to hate target practice less than the extensive training I was putting them through. Still, their suffering was spurring me on. With every groan, grumble and complaint, I felt a little better about huffing and puffing around the field. 

I looked down at the soft skin of my belly, protruding slightly over the waistband of my sports leggings. I was still pudgy. I’d been  _ training.  _ Like, hard. What more did I have to do? I didn’t just pass my tests, all my results were so much  _ better. _ Why did I still look like this? Why did my thighs still rub together? Why did my belly still jiggle? Why does the number on the scales still keep going up? I grumbled as I stood on the scales in the women's locker room. 184. That wasn't  _ great.  _ I guess I just have to work harder. 

I walked out of the locker room in my pyjamas and out to the roof of the base, not caring if, by some miracle, the morons in blue managed to sneak over, that they’d be able to shoot me. It’s not like my armour would have protected me much more. I sat down, dangling my chubby legs over the side and pulled a cigarette carton out of my pocket. I lit the dart and took a deep drag. I’d probably be able to run faster if I quit, but that was a step too far on the escape quest. 

“Hey, Boss?” 

“Yes, Private?” I asked, trying not to sigh as I looked up from the horizon. 

“Can I ask you something?” he asked, stowing his weapon on his back. 

“Yeah?” I raised an eyebrow at his armoured helmet. 

“You clearly don’t see the Blues as a threat, you’re sitting out here in your pyjamas for god’s sake. So why the sudden push for training?” He was clearly a lot more perceptive than I had given him credit for. I frowned, stubbing the burning butt of the cigarette into the concrete roof. Where was the harm?

“You ever fear death?” I asked. He cocked his head in confusion. Even behind the helmet, I could see the expression of bemusement. Eventually he shook his head. 

“I wouldn’t make for a very good soldier if I was afraid to die,” he replied. I scoffed. 

“Actually, Private,” I said, lighting another cigarette. “Fear of death keeps you alive. There’s nothing unsoldierly about being afraid to die. Fear in the face of death is logical. No, it’s what you do with that fear that makes all the difference. Not fearing death is either incredibly brave, or incredibly foolish. You need to decide which one you are. Are you a hero amongst us cowards or are you the first to die?”

“I want to be a hero,” he told me. 

“Ah, so you’re not one already? Not afraid to die but also not a hero,” I said. 

“I haven’t done anything yet,” he said. “I wanted to be out there, do what you did, maybe not sharp shooting but I wanted to be out there and fight a real fight. This red vs blue crap is a joke. There’s no way all the planets in the UNSC banded together to take on aliens, then fight the corruption and it boils down to this, to some Reds and some Blues. God, over there are people from the same town as me. The only difference is armour colour. This isn’t even a real war.”

“I know,” I sighed, stubbing out my cigarette. “But when you sign up to be a soldier, you don’t get to choose what battles you fight. You only get to choose how hard you do.”

* * *

I stared down at my armour carefully. Nothing seemed off, but then again, this wasn’t really my specialty. I looked up and around the room, there was a particular private on this squad that liked messing around with armour customisation. I spotted a man in red stagger out of the equipment room of the shop, arm full of replacement parts and various tools. That was probably him. 

“Private,” I nodded, watching him creep past me. He squeeked. 

“Corporal,” he stuttered back. 

“Is it fair to say you know a fair amount about our suits?” I asked and he nodded, frantically. “Good, I want you to have a look at mine.”

“R-right away, Boss,” he said and scuttled over to my abandoned bench. I followed him, at full speed now I was no longer burdened by injury. Which is what had sparked the sudden interest. It wouldn’t be long before Wyoming came back. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Is there a way, besides activating the distress beacon, for say command to track our armour?” I asked. He shook his head. 

“Not within the suit, you could remote activate the distress beacon if you knew where to send the signal from or reverse the signal if you wanted to find out where the signal was being sent. But unless someone put something in this armour, no, there isn’t. It’s not regulation,” he explained and I nodded, letting a deep exhale. 

“Good,” I said. “Would you know what to look for?”

“I’m sorry?” he stuttered. 

“If someone had, hypothetically added something in this armour, would you be able to spot it?” I asked. He shrugged. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Probably.”

“Great, check my armour and disable the distress beacon,” I told him. “Report back to me when you’re done. I have another job for you.”

I turned on my heel and marched out of the room. That seemed like enough work for the day. Besides, it’s Grifball time. I walked into the rec room and grabbed a bag of potato chips from my stash. I slumped down on the sofa and turned on the TV. There we go, back to being lazy. Back to myself. 

Washington POV

I sighed for what felt like the hundredth time today. Between Caboose and Tucker and the constant radio chatter from the Reds, I was beginning to think I should have really died instead of faking my own death. And it was still a long way back to Blood Gulch. I still couldn't believe the stupid armour switch plan had worked, yet here I was, trudging through the snow with the Blues back to their assigned base. 

I mean what kind of plan was that, anyway? That never would have worked back at the Project. I sighed, running a hand over the back of my neck. Dee would have laughed at that. A plan so stupid, so reckless, actually working. I felt a pang in my chest, a deep ache eating through me like rot. She’d be mad at me, I think, if she’d known I didn’t work fast enough, that I let that thing get North. I still couldn’t work out why he’d been where he was, with South no less, despite all the bad blood between the twins. He couldn’t still be hung up on finding her, she was gone. 

_ She was gone. _ Words that haunted me. After everything, she was gone. All the times we’d ended up back in each other’s lives, everything she’d come back from before. And now she was gone, and she wasn’t coming back. And so quickly, the same could be said for all my friends. Everyone I cared about was dead and gone. Massachusetts was about the only one I knew who hadn’t died, and he was in prison, just like I had been. 

I sighed. How had my life become this mess? I always tried to be good, do the right thing. That’s why I’d enlisted in the first place. I think. I’d always had an interest in stars and plants when I was a kid, in fact I can’t fathom why I ever signed up for the army, and it made even less sense to me why I accepted transfer to Project Freelancer when I could have just been discharged. I didn’t exactly like being a soldier, I was good at it now but why had the Project seemed like my last chance after I decked my CO? I thought back to Dee again. She’s always wanted to be just like her dad. I remember her saying she’d studied finance in school and had planned to go into it at college before Javier died, so maybe it was her. Maybe it was a subconscious need to feel connected to her. Honestly when I’d first seen her again since I moved, I didn’t even recognise her. But I remembered my only childhood friend. Of course I did. 

For the love of a woman I ended up in this situation. And she didn’t even love me back, not in the way it counts. I laughed bitterly. She wasn’t even here anymore and it was still all worth it. I hated this, trudging across the map with people I couldn’t stand, hated watching the Project tear down the people I love but I’d do it all again. Maybe not exactly the same, I’d liked to have grown back the balls my grappling hook incident seemed to have ripped off and actually said something to her. But if I had to do things exactly the same again I would, and I was so angry with myself because of it. 

Main POV

I sighed. I checked my armour over one more time, despite the insistence of the private who’s name I’d forgotten, or never asked for, that there was no way I could be tracked. And there was nothing in the enhancement or the AI Wyoming had given me, unless it was written into the code of the AI fragment and I wouldn’t know that until I powered it on. I had installed them both, keeping them powered off until I absolutely needed them, because I couldn’t leave them behind with the potential for them to fall into the wrong hands and I couldn’t destroy them, because they might become useful. 

“Almost ready, Boss?” the Private from the rooftop asked. I nodded. 

“What’s your name, Private?” I asked. 

“Stacey,” he replied and I quirked a brow. 

“I’m sorry?” I asked and he laughed. 

“When I enlisted, my name was Stacey, Stacey Cummings,” he told me. I cocked my head to the side. Who cares about enlistment paperwork?

“And it’s not now?” I asked and he shook his head. 

“Now I wanna be called Mike,” he told me and I nodded once. 

“Alright, Mike it is.” 

I picked up my armour pieces one by one and strapped them in place, grabbing my helmet and heading out to where we’d gathered our supplies. The plan, my plan was to use this battle I’d created as my opportunity to escape. But I had to make sure nothing happened to Mike first. 

I climbed into one of the Warthogs and he took shotgun, someone climbing into the gunner’s position with all the supplies. We’d soaked the ground on our side of the border last night, and we’d been drenching it for days. It was well watered, but not bogged. And along the boundary line, we were about to spray spare tankards of gasoline. Sure, we were taking the concept of smoking them out, a little too literally, but it would be one hell of a firefight. 

We poured the border with a neat line of gas, leaving strategically placed drums filled to bursting point behind. I nodded, approvingly at the scene we’d set out before us. 

“Alright Team, fall back to your positions,” I ordered, taking one of the Warthogs to my own perch. I climbed up and lay myself down. I pressed the button for my radio. “ **Now,** ” I commanded and I saw a plasma grenade soar through the air and attach itself to one of the drums. The  _ boom _ was powerful enough to shake the large rock I was laying on, miles from the border line. The gas ignited as did the grass around it and I spied blues running out of their base to see what the commotion was. 

“ **Hold your fire,** ” I ordered. “ **Don’t shoot until we get a headcount. I want them all out here trying to put out the fires.** ”

“ **What happens when we kill them all?** ” someone radioed back. “ **Who’s going to put out the fire?** ”

“ **Let it burn, even if the wind changes, it won’t come our way, we took precautions, when there’s nothing left it should taper off and die,** ” I replied. “ **Let it burn all the way through to their base, it’s not like we need anything from it.** ”

“ **What about the flag?** ” 

“ **What about it? They’ll all be dead, what good is their flag to us, burned or not?** ” I replied. “ **Next grenade.** ”

Soon, the whole border was up in flames, and it was spreading to the field as the Blues frantically tried to put it out. Thick smoke filled the air and it wasn’t long before I couldn’t see to snipe any targets. 

“ **Okay Reds, move in,** ” I gave the command, watching their backs through my scope. I watched my Team move in and Blues fall, almost completely distracted by the fire to even see us coming. When they did see us in advance, you could see the look of horror and fear through their helmets like they weren’t wearing any at all.

There was a particularly strong gust of wind towards the blue base and the fire surged forward, raging on through the afternoon. I could feel the heat from my perch and I was nowhere near it. I almost felt bad for my guys being in the thick of it. I pressed my radio again, ordering my beta team to switch with the front lines, make sure they fell back to get hydrated and away from the overbearing heat for a moment. 

The smoke had moved on because of the wind, you could see burnt out bodies littering the borderline alongside the ruptured remains of all the drums of fuel we’d use to start the fire. My radio buzzed, it was a long distance call, my armour informed me. From Command. Fuck. 

“ **Corporal, just what in Sam hell are you doing down there?** ”

“ **Taking care of the Blues,** ” I replied, shrug evident in my voice. 

“ **They’re dropping like flies, but there hasn’t been a single casualty to Red,** ” the command told me. “ **You’re up for a serious commendation if the numbers keep changing like this.** ”

“ **What can I say, I have a passion for the job,** ” I said, smirking. “ **I have to get off the radio, we’re still in active combat.** ”

And that was my cue to leave. I ordered all my team to stick to the plan, once the fire spread through to the base, let it burn out. Then take strike teams, just like we’d practiced, and sweep the base. Kill any remaining survivors. Take any useful supplies, the flag if it remained, and victory. There was a bit of confusion as to why I wouldn’t be taking part, why I was giving orders as if I wouldn’t be around to do it with them, but I turned off my radio. I wouldn’t let Wyoming find me. 

Wyoming POV

I’d been informed as soon as Project Red and Blue Command got wind of the situation. The files may have been wiped, no thanks to Agent Washington, and Project Freelancer in shambles, ready to be shut down almost, but Command was still running as of now. And my girl, Little Minx, had led some kind of attack on the Blues in her little box canyon. Numbers of dead soaring through the roof at speeds that had been previously unheard of at other training bases, at least, without Red casualties climbing with them. At first I had assumed she was using her skills as a sharpshooter to snipe them all, having grown frustrated with her situation, that was until her entire squadron of soldier’s shared high blood pressure and adrenaline levels on their vital monitors. Hers however, I’d noticed, weren’t showing up. And they hadn’t for days. Her monitor was either broken or she had decabled it. This was a distraction. She’s escaping. 

“Just couldn’t behave yourself, could you, Little Minx,” I tutted, shaking my head and going to suit up. With any luck I could drop in before she could get very far and move her somewhere else. 

The air was too thick with smoke when the helicarrier flew over the box canyon that housed Corporal Bentley. I suspect that was one of the reasons she’d executed the plan the way that she did. She was meticulous in covering all the details. 

She truly was wasted in UNICOM. How useful it would have been if she’d just accepted the Project Freelancer position. How much more convenient it would have been to bring her over onside than injure and capture her later. But this was my employer's preferred method, if you could convince someone to switch sides, they could switch back. Whereas, if you used fear, so long as you remained the largest source of that fear, you had them forever. 

I sighed as I dropped into active combat, having hoped to find her and drop to her location, with minimal searching, but things never went to plan these days. And, I found nothing. I had seen a discarded sniper rifle on a large, flat topped rock near the start of the combat. Having dropped through the smoke close to that position I discovered tire tracks heading in the opposite direction. I chuckled, not so smart, after all, are you, Minx?

I followed her tracks up until they stopped, there was a Warthog parked next to a low ledge in the cliff, providing just the right amount of height assistance to get a person onto the ledge. I climbed up after her and pushed myself up ledge after ledge until I reached the top of the canyon. I stared out over the cliff, her work on this destruction, was a masterpiece. 

It was the last thought that went through my mind before a burning pain short through me and the sound of a sniper shot echoed through the air, over all the noise of the firefight down below. I hit the ground at the top of the cliff hard. I underestimated you, Little Minx, but I won’t again.

Main POV

I didn’t stop to see if he got back up again, all I needed to know is that if he did, he’d be a lot slower. I knew he’d been watching, he said he would be. If I’d have just slipped away, my Reds probably would have reported it, assumed it was a Blue kidnapping plot or assasination. And it wouldn’t have been long before Wyoming caught up and found me, and he could bring his scary friend. But this? It gave my team a win and it kept all eyes on the canyon. I had a literal smokescreen to cover me as I ran. 

He might catch up with me again later, he would recover probably from that shot, I don’t know why I didn’t just kill him. Perhaps it was better the devil you know, because if I had killed him, his big friend might come after me. Maybe a different person who worked for the people he did would be sent in. And they might be worse. At least Wyoming was somewhat amused by me. Yes, there were people worse in this world than Wyoming, so I would rather deal with him. 

Days of walking, camping during the peak of noon, only moving in the early evening, night or early morning when the sun wasn't at its brightest. Days of covering tracks, destroying camps and struggling to find enough supplies. I’d taken some, yes, but I’d known some wouldn’t have been enough. This wasn’t a journey I could afford to pack much for, it required traveling light. But I’d made it pretty far across the map. I hadn’t planned much farther ahead than this. I hadn’t planned a place to go, I didn’t know a place to go. I’d just planned to run. In a way, that made me safer. But mostly it just made me incredibly stupid. 

“No, Grif, we’re not stopping again. You’re just going to have to hold it until we cover more ground,” I heard someone say. I looked up and saw a southern sounding soldier dressed in red and almost cried, thinking my own team had found me. That was until I spotted he was with a group of rainbow soldiers. Shit. I hoped it wasn’t Project Freelancer. Why so many? No way I was that important. Unless I’d actually managed to kill Wyoming and was being treated as hostile and extremely dangerous. 

“Sarge, I’m not asking that,” I heard the orange one reply. Sarge, I didn’t think Project Freelancer followed the normal chain of command, didn’t think they had Sergeants. 

“Then what are you asking, Grif?” the pink one cheerfully asked. 

“Who’s that?” Grif asked, looking directly at me. Sarge, the pink one, and the rest of the rainbow soldiers, who’d been a little ways off from that group, all joined him in staring directly at me. 

“Shit,” I said out loud and spun on my heel, pushing off the dirt and running as hard as I possibly could away from the group. 

“Shit,” I heard someone else say. “After them!”

Wyoming POV

I paced around the mess, where I’d gathered the entire team. I stared down their helmet-less faces, hoping to intimidate them. They certainly looked worried and this was without Agent Maine lurking behind me and growling. 

“We really don’t know where Corporal Bentley’s gone, Sir,” one of the Private’s told me. “First sign we noticed anything was when she was giving us orders on what to do after the battle.”

“Well, that’s not exactly true,” another, squeaky voiced Private rubbed the back of their head. “A week or two beforehand she asked me about Command being able to track us. She said it was all hypothetical… well.. until she asked me to disable and remove a few parts…”

“Look, Agent Wyoming, we don’t know anything and I’m sure if we did, we wouldn’t tell you,” a more boisterous Private told me. “We serve under Corporal Bentley, not you. If she’s gone, she probably has a reason.”

“Project Freelancer doesn’t follow the normal chain of command, if I say something, you do it,” I told him and he spat on the floor in front of me. “What’s your name, Private?”

“Mike,” he replied. 

“Goodbye Mike,” I replied and pulled the trigger to my firearm. He dropped from my sight to the floor and I looked to the rest of the group, ignoring the coughing and the spluttering from my feet. “Anyone else, wish to question my credentials?” 

I holstered my handgun and looked down at the blood that had spurted from Mike’s mouth and onto my shinplates. Terribly messy business this was. White was almost a bad colour choice, but I’d grown rather partial to it. 

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**_Several Years Ago..._ **

Main POV

I stared up from my spot on the ground, covered in dust and out of breath. I glared angrily through my visor at the rainbow soldiers surrounding me. There was some bickering between the redder toned soldiers and the bluer toned ones mostly stared and I couldn’t decide which was worse. The redder ones paid me no attention, which was kind of rude now they’d tied me up on the ground, but the bluer ones staring were unnerving. Especially the one with the yellow accents, who seemed to be their unofficial leader. He’d been the one to tell the others to chase me down. 

“Are you freelancers, then?” I asked, biting the bullet and being the first to speak. 

“No,” the one with the yellow accents cocked his head to the side, in apparent confusion. “Why do you ask?”

“Varying colours in armour, Reds and Blues together,” I replied, looking between them all. “I’m new to how all the Red and Blue stuff works but I know you only get a different colour from regulation if you’ve done something worthy.”

“Are you a Red Team soldier?” he asked. Looking at my off regulation colour armour. 

“Kind of?” I said awkwardly, biting my lip. 

“What do you mean kind of?” he demanded. 

“Listen dude, we just met. I don’t care you just beat up and bound me, I’m not just going to spill everything. I just need to know if you’re Freelancers coming to kill me or not,” I bit back. Struggling a bit. 

“Why would the Freelancers want to kill you?” he asked and I shook my head. He sighed and squatted down, reaching out to me and took off my helmet. There was a bit of blood on my lip from my head hitting the front of my helmet, and more on my forehead. Nervously, I licked at the blood on my lip. “Why?”

“Um..” I pushed myself up on my elbows, pushing myself away a little in the dirt. 

“I don’t recognise you, you probably haven’t done anything that bad, just tell me who you are,” he said, sounding frustrated, but like it was only because I was being so stupid. 

“I can’t,” I stuttered out. “He’s looking for me! Listen, I don’t know what you’re up to and I don’t care. You’ve gotta let me go so I can get the hell out of here.”

“Wait a second, are you AWOL?” the leader asked. 

“What n tarnation?” Sarge asked. “A Red, AWOL? Disgraceful. What’s your rank?”

“Corporal,” I replied. “But I’m not telling you any more! And I wouldn’t have left my post if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

“Uhh Wash?” the teal one said. 

“What, Tucker?” the leader sighed. 

“There’s a lot of smoke coming from over there, and some UNSC helicarriers circling. It’s distant but if we want to avoid any..” Tucker explained and I paled. If they could still see that in the distance, despite it having been days I was in trouble. I started struggling even more, pushing myself farther back in the dirt, as if I would get anywhere with these zip ties around me. 

“I know,” Wash said. “Wait, why are you scared? Does that fire have something to do with you?”

“It took me a couple of days to walk this far from there,” I said. “Granted, I only traveled in low light. I promise I will tell you everything if you just take me away from  _ there _ ! You don’t understand, he’s gonna kill me!”

“Who?” Wash demanded. 

“Wyoming!” I cried out in frustration. 

“Impossible. He’s dead,” Wash said. 

“He can’t be, I just shot that English bastard,” I replied. “But like… not fatally so don’t be mad.”

“That can’t be possible…” Wash said. 

“Feel free to check it out for yourself. He's probably still laying there on the cliffside, but just don’t take me with you,” I said, struggling in my restraints. 

He stepped forward and I awkwardly crawled away from him. I started biting at the zip ties around my wrists as I scooted backwards on my ass. He grabbed my ankles and I screamed as he yanked me towards him. He pulled a knife and I fought harder until it became apparent he was cutting the ties around my legs. I used my now free legs to kick free of his hold and scurry backwards. I pushed myself up off the ground and spun on my heel to make a run for it. 

“Not so fast,” Wash said, clamping a hand down on my shoulder. “Listen, we can’t hang around, not with all those helicarriers around. You’re going to come with us so we can continue this someplace safer. We’re not going to hurt you, not unless you give us reason to. So behave and this’ll be over soon.”

“Listen, whatever it is you guys did, I won’t tell. I promise, just don’t kill me and don’t turn me over to  _ them, _ ” I begged. Josi Bentley was not above begging for her life. Not when she was semi-bound and outnumbered. 

“I’m not going to hand you over to them,” Wash soothed. Something about the way he was talking to me made a lump in my throat build and I felt like I was on the verge of tears. “And we haven’t done anything, we just don’t want any unnecessary attention. Calm down and come with us.”

“I don’t want to,” I whimpered, lip trembling, tears pricking at my eyes. “Please.”

“Alright,” Wash sighed. He leaned down, for a moment I thought he was going to let me go. I was flooded with relief until his shoulder made contact with my middle and I was hoisted up onto his shoulder. I screamed out kicking and fighting but it was no use. It was the same reason I hadn’t stood a chance when he’d speedily tackled me to the ground and bound me with ties handed to him from the redder soldiers. 

“NO!” I screamed with all my might, fighting against his hold. “Stop! Stop! Put me down!” 

I was beating hard against his back but it was almost like it had no affect on him. My weight seemed to be of no consequence either as he seemed to be carrying me easily. So eventually, I gave up fighting, knowing I was low on food, water and stamina. I’d need to save my strength for another escape attempt. Technically, the last one was a success. I had just ended up in a hostage situation of sorts immediately after. 

Washington POV

It was painful, seeing this woman in so much distress. From the minute she started begging us not to take her back to Wyoming.. Wyoming of all people.. and kicking and screaming. It brought me back to Dee. It reminded me of some of her PTSD attacks, especially some of her first ones since coming out of her katatonic state. But I had to remind myself, no matter how distressed the woman on my shoulder was, she wasn’t Dee. 

If Wyoming was alive, just what had she done to piss him off? Besides shooting him. She must have done something major, especially to warrant the helicarriers and her apparent fear that all of Project Freelancer was hunting her down. After an hour or so of walking I sighed, awkwardly shifting her to the other shoulder, trying not to put her feet on the ground, lest she kick me and make a break for it. She seemed resigned to her fate though, after the first twenty minutes. 

I was worried, if Wyoming was alive, and Project Freelancer was helping him, that they might not have believed I was really dead. I knew this stupid plan was too good to be true. Of course it didn’t work, it was ridiculous. I wondered if heading back to Blood Gulch was such a good idea, especially with a captive prisoner. 

“Can I ask where we’re going?” a small voice croaked from my shoulder. 

“No, that’s probably not a good idea,” I replied. She nodded, I could see that even from over my shoulder. There were a few moments of silence before she cleared her throat.

“I’ve met him before,” she told me. “It was a while ago, before I moved from my platoon in UNICOM. I was on a mission and I had to change positions, he cornered me in a stairwell. His big, scary friend was with him, growling in the background. I threw him down a flight of stairs, but his friend broke my arm. And they shot me, twice.”

“Big, scary, growling friend?” I asked. That almost sounded like the Meta. Had Wyoming been working with him?

“I don’t remember if I ever got his name,” she replied. “I wasn’t exactly asking many questions when I was fighting for my life, but when I saw him again he was alone.”

“When you shot him?” I asked and she shook her head. 

“When I woke up in hospital, he was there,” she explained. “He spun some other story, that the two of them had rescued me in the stairwell. My CO believed him. They.. my squad.. They abandoned me. They had to move on I know but.. He actually told me they had planned to do something worse to me if he hadn’t’ve intervened. I know my squad didn’t exactly like me, but what he was implying… the UNSC doesn’t do that. I know the Insurrectionists got busted for that a few years ago.. he told me if he hadn’t have intervened I never would have recovered and I’d end up just like some friend of his..”

“What friend?” I demanded. I found it hard to believe Wyoming was just chatting about Dee like this woman was an old friend. 

“He didn’t say,” she replied. “But he said she’d had the support of his team to help her get over it. And I’d never survive because I wouldn’t. I mean, I kind of agree they wouldn’t have my back. They’re assholes and I hated them. But because of fucking Wyoming I lost my job. And I was fucking good at it.”

“What did you do? How were you alone when Wyoming got to you?” I asked, adjusting her on my shoulder slightly. We’d been walking a little slower, she was beginning to get heavy. It must have been over a couple of hours since we’d started walking again and I didn’t know how much longer I could carry her for. 

“Tucker, your turn,” I said, stopping completely and lifting her off my shoulder and dropping her onto the ground. 

She stood on her feet, showing no sign of running. We’d kept her helmet off her, preventing her from tracking us or radioing anyone. Tucker came over and threw her unceremoniously over his shoulders like she was a sack of angry potatoes. She’d soured considerably since I’d put her down. But this way I could walk behind them and watch her face, see any sign of lying. 

“I’m the team’s sniper,” she said eventually, relaxing her face a little. “506 confirmed kills.”

“Holy shit,” I heard Tucked mutter under his breath. 

“I’m going to ask you again, what’s your name?” I told her. 

“I can’t tell you,” she cried out. 

“I don’t work for or with Wyoming,” I told her. “Tell me who you are.”

“Tell me who you are,” she countered. 

“I can’t,” I sighed. She had me there. “For now, you can call me Wash.”

“Until you can tell me your name, I can’t tell you mine,” she told me and I nodded. I understood her, at least. But I had a feeling me telling her who I was wouldn’t make her feel any safer. 

“It won’t be hard to find out,” I told her. “I’m sure Simmons wouldn’t find it too difficult to hack into the Red vs Blue command computers and look for a Corporal gone AWOL from the base we were just near. It’s up to you if you wanna tell me or if you want me to find out the hard way..”

“Simmons can’t do that,” she called my bluff. 

“Hey!” Simmons called from up front. 

“If Simmons could do that, he’d have already done it,” she reasoned and I wanted to commend her on that. Simmons probably couldn’t actually do it. I might be able to, maybe. If I used one of the other agents I knew’s codes. If they hadn’t been removed from the system. 

“You don’t know that he can’t just because he hasn’t done it. You know he’s the one responsible for deleting the Blues from existence a couple of years ago,” I said and her eyes widened. So she’d heard. That at least made her story from UNICOM more likely, as it wasn’t made public knowledge to the Red and Blues what had happened, and many hadn’t asked questions. 

“Who the fuck are you people?” she demanded with narrow eyes. 

“Just some Blues and Reds baby,” Tucker answered, giving her a slap on the ass. She started kicking then, her fighting spirit apparently not gone, just dormant. “Ow! Stop stop! I’m sorry.”

“Smooth Tucker, real smooth,” I grumbled. 

“I have to move you to my other shoulder, are you going to kick me in the crotch when I do?” Tucker asked.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she grumbled, before a mischievous look crept up her features. He lifted her down slightly and she pulled a leg back. “But now I have the idea..” and kicked him between the legs. Tucker dropped her and she took off in a run. I’d never seen someone run so hard or so determinedly. 

“Ow!” Tucker yelped before he reached for his crotch and dropped to his knees. 

“Hah! It’s nice it’s someone else for a change!” Grif yelled at Tucker. 

I broke out in a run after her and as I was reaching out for her, a few feet from catching up I spotted Grif stick out a leg slightly and she hit the ground. Hard. I slid down to the ground beside her and took a zip tie passed to me by Simmons and tried to bind her legs again. She fought against me, kicking out at me and crawling forward away from me on her elbows. I grabbed her ankles, pulling her back towards me and flipping her over. I saw her angry, round face and she glared at me. I sighed as I fastened the ties around her ankles and tugged her closer towards me. I was sweating, but I didn’t trust Tucker to carry her again. I sighed as I looked at her pouting face. 

“Look, I don’t like having to carry you around either, but I need you to come with us and if you’re not going to do it willingly this is the way it has to be,” I explained and she huffed. “Please behave,” I pleaded. 

I scooped her up, carrying her in front of me this time, instead of in a fireman's hold. Personally, I thanked the many years of having to carry drunken York back to the ship for my continued ability to carry this woman. She must have weighed 180 pounds and while most of us at Project Freelancer could lift and throw great weights, prolonged carry was another matter. 

I smiled to myself, thinking about the time Dee threw a treadmill at Wyoming for slapping her on the ass in one of her first few weeks as being an official member of the team. I’d taken her to the gym for her to get used to wearing and moving her armour suit and she’d beant over the gym equipment for just a second, paying no mind to the soldier walking past. And he’d thought twice about doing something like that ever again. 

I looked down to see her struggling to stay awake. This was good news, while I couldn’t question her, if she fell asleep she’d at least stop trying to escape. After another hour and a half or so I handed her over to Caboose, who’d always been weirdly strong, and he showed no bother in helping the ‘pretty lady’ as he’d called her. Tucker was pretty happy I hadn’t passed her back to him, convinced the sleeping was an act and that she was plotting to kick him in the balls again. As the light began to fade I called the group to start scouting locations to camp for the night. As we weren’t in hiding, it made sense to travel when we had the light to see. I didn’t trust the Reds and Blues, despite having night vision, not to fall and kill themselves or others, travelling around in the dark. 

“Here’s good,” I nodded at Simmons who’d pointed out a small covered area close to a cliff’s edge. Which meant there were limited places someone could sneak up on us, and limited places for the woman to run. It also meant we were covered from air tracking. 

“Alright, set up camp, I’m going to get a few hours. Wake me after dinner and I’ll take the shift watching the prisoner while everyone sleeps for the night,” I explained. 

“Nonsense,” Sarge interrupted. “You don’t have to take the overnight shift alone. Grif’ll help.”

I heard Grif groan and start to protest until Simmons pointed out it meant technically he didn’t have to help set up camp because he was on the first sleeping shift and watching the prisoner overnight meant he had several hours peace from Sarge. 

Main POV

I could hear Wash’s heartbeat as he walked. I’d rested my head on his chest, resigned to the fact I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I was actually pretty tired. I hadn’t slept much since escaping, too wired about being on the run by myself. And before I’d been too worried about escaping. I blinked, barely about to keep my eyes open. Something about the fatigue, the rhythmic motion and the steady beat of Wash’s heart put me out cold. 

When I did open my eyes again I was staring up at the starry night sky, a warm fire burning not far from me, giving off an orange light. I looked around, propping myself up on my elbows a bit. I was surrounded by sleeping bodies. 

Now was my chance. I looked around desperately for something to release my bounds and noticed a combat knife hanging loosely from Grif’s thigh. I rolled over onto my knees and slowly and quietly I crawled over to him. I reached up as gently as I could for his knife and it detached from his holster. He let out a loud snore as I watched him carefully for a moment and I took that as my cue to start releasing my bounds. I snapped the tie from around my wrists with ease and then went for my ankles. Slowly, I went to put the knife back, he didn’t stir, he was still sound. 

I pushed myself up off the ground and slowly tiptoed around the sleeping soldiers. The sleeping, very stupid soldiers who had just let me walk out of their camp. Once I made it to the edge I took one final glance behind me and broke out into a run.  _ Finally  _ I was free. I barely registered the tug at my ankle before I was faced down in the ground, all air knocked from my lungs. I coughed, the puff of air sending dirt flying around me. I suppose I should have stopped to grab my helmet. Maybe then I would have spotted whatever had tripped me. 

“Yeah,” I heard Wash sigh. I pushed my face up out of the dirt and spotted him squatting by a tree. “I thought you might try and run again if you woke up.” He pushed up and walked over and I glared at him. “What I don’t get is, everyone was asleep. Why not kill them? You’d have been free, not risking capture again and there’d be no one to chase you. I know you don’t have a problem with killing. Your kill count is too high. Unless of course you were lying.” He paused, seemingly waiting for a response. I didn’t have one to give. “So? What, not talking anymore?”

“I don’t care who you are,” I tried again, looking him in where I thought his eyes were behind his helmet. “I’m not going to kill you, any of you. I just have to get out of here.”

“Why? You’re miles away now from your box canyon,” he said. 

“He’s going to come looking for me, he told me he would,” I pleaded. 

“Why? What’s so special about you?” Wash asked. I shook my head. I wouldn’t say. He sighed at me again. “Look, Wyoming is bad news. I know him. But I can’t help you if you don’t start talking to me. I’ll help you if I can but I need to know why he wants you. And part of that is who you are.”

“He doesn’t want me,” I blurted out. For some reason I believed him. “His employer does.”

“Project Freelancer?” He cocked his head to the side. 

“No,” I shook my head. “I don’t think so. They sent me a transfer request but I rejected them. They’re pretty cutthroat but I don’t think they’d go this far just for a sniper. He works for someone else, even though he still works for Project Freelancer. Or is saying he does.”

Wash groaned in frustration. “Damn it, and I thought the only mole was CT. I should have known he was a traitor.”

“What are you talking about? You said you weren’t a Freelancer..” I said, pushing myself back in the dirt away from him. I threw myself up off the ground, backing away step by step until I felt something pressing against the top of my ankles. A tripwire. That’s how he’d gotten me. Stupid, can’t belive I’d fallen for it. 

“I’m not anymore,” he sighed. “They’re not,” he said, nodding towards the Reds and Blues. “And I’m technically dead so I need you to be quiet about this one,” he said with a slight smile sounding in his voice. I smirked. 

“So  _ you’re  _ AWOL,” I said and he chuckled. 

“Technically, I suppose,” he said, pulling his helmet off and putting out an arm, leading me back to camp with a hand ghosting my waist. 

  
  
  



End file.
